Adventures in Babysitting
by mercurywrites
Summary: Sirius shows up in Lily's floo one day with a desperate request - he needs her help babysitting. Will the baby survive being under Lily and Sirius's care? Will Lily and Sirius survive each other?


"Lily, Sirius is in the floo."

I lift an eyebrow at my husband and say, "Well, what would you like me to do about it?"

"Go see what he wants?" James says, leaning back against the wall and giving me an amused look, "He's calling for _you_."

I'm surprised for a moment – Sirius is James's friend, really, not mine. Truthfully, I can hardly even stand the man half the time. When I first met Sirius and James, they were two of the most arrogant, obnoxious bullies it had ever been my displeasure to meet. In fact, it wasn't until my seventh year at Hogwarts that James finally stuck a pin in that enormous head of his and let out a bit of the air that had been inflating it. That's when I finally agreed to start dating him, when I had seen that he'd changed, that he'd grown into a better man.

Sirius, on the other hand…

"Oh, alright," I say, a bit of my exasperation creeping into my voice. I can feel James laughing at me as I stalk irritably down the hall to the living room, and I shoot him a glare before walking through the door.

Sirius's head is floating in the fireplace, looking disheveled. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, much in the same way James's does, and his slate gray eyes are glassy – he looks exhausted. "Lily!" he exclaims, a look of relief passing over his face at the sight of me.

"Sirius?" I say, confused and almost concerned, though I wouldn't have admitted that part; "You look like the living dead."

Sirius groans. "I _feel_ like the living dead," he mutters.

I cross my arms over my chest and give him a stern look. "You weren't out drinking again last night, were you?" I question him, "Sirius, that would make the third—"

"No, I wasn't drinking," Sirius snaps, cutting off my accusation, "I actually…erm…well, the thing is, I need your help."

I sigh and close my eyes, willing myself not to go insane. "Sirius, I am _not_ going to be involved in any of your harebrained schemes—"

But again, Sirius cuts me off, surprising me once more. "No harebrained schemes today, Lily. I actually…well…the thing is, I'm babysitting."

"Babysitting," I repeat, dumbfounded.

"Yes, babysitting. My cousin Andromeda is off for a romantic weekend with her husband. Her mother-in-law couldn't watch their brat today, so now I'm stuck with her. And, well, you're a woman, aren't you?"

"Last time I checked," I say with a smirk.

"And you have some sort of maternal instincts, right?"

I shrug. "I'm okay with kids, I guess."

"Lily," Sirius says, his eyes pleading, "I am begging you to come over and help me. I'm out of my element here, I don't know what to do…"

I let out a deep sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. I can already feel a headache spreading behind my eyes. "Fine," I say at last, "I'll be over in a minute."

"Thank you, Lily, thank you!" Sirius exclaims, "I really owe you one! Next time you need _anything_, you can count on me!"

"Right," I say with an uncertain smile. When I'm in need of help, Sirius is rarely the first person who comes to mind.

With a soft _pop, _Sirius's face disappears from the fireplace, and I turn to leave the living room and let James know where I'll be for the rest of the day. However, as I walk out the door into the kitchen, I nearly bump straight into James, who gives me a look and bursts out laughing. "Babysitting with Sirius?" he gasps out between fits of laughter, "That poor, poor child…"

"What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?" I snap.

"Come on, Lil, you and Padfoot can't go five minutes in the same room without arguing about _something,_" James states, and not entirely inaccurately either, "Either you, or he, or the kid is going to go crazy by the end of the day." He pauses. "On second thought, maybe I should come with you…"

Shooting my husband a warning glare, I say, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm a big girl, honey, I can handle myself."

"Alright," James smirks, "But if I have to take you to St. Mungo's psychiatric ward later, don't say I didn't warn you."

Rolling my eyes, I push past James and walk to our bedroom, where I pick up my purse, and, as an afterthought, the stuffed puppy I was planning on sending to Petunia for her son Dudley's first birthday. Then I brace myself and return to the living room. I take a pinch of floo powder from the bowl on top of the mantle, which I toss into the flames, turning them a brilliant green. Stepping into the harmless green flames, I state, "Number 12 Grimmauld Place," and before I know it, I'm being greeted with screams of, "OH, WOULD YOU SHUT THAT CHILD UP!" accompanied by the cries of a clearly distressed toddler. I step out into the living room and shout, "Sirius, I'm here!"

"SOMEONE GET THAT MUDBLOOD OUT OF MY HOME, AND SOMEONE SHUT UP THAT SCREAMING BRAT—"

With a flick of my wand, I draw the curtains shut over the portrait of Walburga Black, Sirius's chronically bad-tempered mother, and start walking up the stairs, following the sound of the child's cries.

"Lily!" Sirius calls to me, his voice frazzled, "Oh, Lily, thank Merlin you're here!"

I follow the sound of his voice into a bedroom on the left side of the hall, where Sirius is holding a screaming three-year-old with bright pink hair at arm's length, looking close to tears himself.

"Oh, Sirius," I mutter, half to myself, as I approach the two and hold out my arms. "Give her to me," I order him, and he gladly obeys, thrusting the little girl harshly into my outstretched arms.

"Here, sweetie," I say, gently placing the stuffed puppy in her arms as I draw her closer to my chest, "Don't cry, darling."

Slowly, the child's violent sobs abate to pathetic sniffles, and Sirius stares at us, mouth agape. "How did you do that?" he demands, "I've been trying to get her to stop crying for hours."

"Because you have all the compassion of a Hungarian Horntail," I snap at him, shifting the girl to a more comfortable position resting on my hip. "What have you been doing, _yelling_ at her to stop crying?"

"Only sometimes," Sirius snaps back at me, looking affronted, "And I do _too _have compassion!"

I snort derisively. "You're about as compassionate as you are mature."

Sirius folds his arms and glares at me. "Are you saying I'm not mature?" he growls.

I shrug and turn to leave the room, allowing him to work that one out on his own. "Hey, wait!" Sirius shouts, hurrying after me down the hall. "I am _too_ mature!"

"Oh, yes. Clearly," I sneer, rolling my eyes as the little girl giggles and hugs her puppy.

I allow Sirius to catch up with me, and then I ask, "So, what's the kid's name? And why is her hair pink? If you did that, Sirius—"

"I didn't make her hair pink!" he says defensively, "She's a metamorphagus, it changes colour practically every five seconds." As if to demonstrate his point, her hair suddenly becomes a very brilliant blue.

"I see," I say.

"Her name is Nymphadora," he adds, shooting the child a particularly nasty glare as he does so.

"Nymphadora?" I repeat dubiously.

"It's dumb, I know," he snorts, ignoring the muffled insults shouted from behind the curtain as we pass by his mother's portrait.

"I never said that!" I retort somewhat guiltily, "And honestly, Sirius, I know she's your mother and all, but you really need to think about getting rid of that portrait."

"You think I haven't tried? It's charmed to that wall so I can't get it off."

We reach the bottom of the staircase, and little Nymphadora starts sniffling again, tears building in her blue – oh! green now – eyes. "Ah, shit," Sirius mutters, "Here we go again."

"She just needs something to do, something to take her mind off of crying," I say, setting her down on a couch. "Hey, sweetie," I coo, turning my attention on the sniveling toddler, "Look at the puppy! Look at the little puppy!" Struck with an idea, I pull my wand from my purse, wave it over the stuffed animal, and suddenly it's walking around on the couch, barking and wagging its little velvety tail.

Nymphadora squeals with delight and starts clapping her pudgy little toddler hands. I grin victoriously and turn to Sirius. "See?"

"That was brilliant," he admits, as Nymphadora continues squealing, "Doggy! Doggy!"

Doggy…and suddenly, I'm hit with another burst of inspiration. "Sirius!" I exclaim, "Turn into a dog!"

"No," Sirius says flatly, "Absolutely not, I am _not_ turning into a dog for a bloody three-year-old's amusement."

"And _this _is why you're a terrible babysitter," I state. Turning back to Nymphadora, I ask, "Hey, sweetie, do you want to see Sirius do something _really_ special?"

Her eyes widen at me – violet now, I notice – and she nods vigorously.

"Do it, Sirius."

"No, I'm not—"

"Sirius!"

"Fine!"

And suddenly, Sirius is shrinking down, his skin is becoming fur, his hands and feet are replaced by paws. And instead of Sirius, he's now Padfoot.

Nymphadora gapes at him for a moment before squealing, "Doggy!" and bouncing excitedly on the couch, stretching out a hand to touch him. Sirius looks up at me, growls slightly in his throat, and then moves over so Nymphadora can pet his wiry black fur.

A sudden yelp from Sirius causes me to jump. I look to Nymphadora, who is holding a tuft of black fur in the palm of her hand, grinning madly, and, unable to help myself, I start laughing.

A very much human and very much irritated Sirius comes to stand at my side, rubbing at a spot on the back of his neck. "Would you quit _laughing?_" he snaps, "You're encouraging animal cruelty, you know."

This only causes me to laugh harder, and Nymphadora, infected by my laughter, starts screeching happily. And amidst all the laughter, Mrs. Black's shouts of anger can be heard in the background, making the situation even more ridiculous.

Finally, Sirius lets out a small chuckle as well, which leads way to full booming laughter, and so the three of us collapse on the couch, laughing hysterically until Kreacher, Sirius's psychopathic house elf, comes into the room muttering about Mudbloods and half-bloods and filthy blood traitors. Sirius, no longer laughing, jumps up from the couch with anger burning in his eyes. "Do _not _use that kind of language around the kid!" he shouts, "_Do not!_"

Kreacher glares murderously at his master and shuffles from the room, still whispering under his breath. Nymphadora and I are both silent. The laughter is gone. Slowly, I rise from the couch and say, "I think I'll go start some dinner. You stay here and watch Nymphadora. Can you handle that?"

Sirius shrugs, which I take to mean yes – _hopefully_ it means yes – so I walk to the kitchen and start looking around for anything a three-year-old kid might like to eat. I discover a box of pasta in the pantry, which I take out and set on the counter while I begin boiling a pot of water. I've never been entirely comfortable using magic to cook. I can do it, and I can do it well, but I prefer to cook like a Muggle, the way I learned by helping my mother in the kitchen. Especially now that my mother is gone – she lost her battle with cancer the summer after my fifth year – it gives me a way to feel connected with her.

The pasta finishes cooking about ten minutes later. I add sauce and spoon it out into three bowls, which I have to spend awhile searching for, and place them on the table. "Dinner's ready!" I call. When I get no response, I shout, "Hey, Sirius! Dinner's ready!" Once again, my words are met with silence. Sighing exasperatedly, I walk out into the living room, only to find Sirius _sleeping_ on the couch, and Nymphadora nowhere in sight. "Sirius!" I screech, moving over to him and shaking him violently, "Get _up_, for Merlin's sake!"

Groggily, he opens his eyes and mutters, "Wha' you want?"

"You idiot! Where's the kid?"

Now he's wide awake, and he leaps up from the couch. "What do you mean, where's the kid?" he snaps.

"She escaped while you were _sleeping_!"

"Shit! Well, let's go find her."

Sirius and I start wandering through his house – which is _massive_, might I add – calling out for Nymphadora, but to no response.

"Do you think she's alright?" I ask worriedly, "Why isn't she answering us? What if she's hurt?"

"She's probably just playing. You know how kids are," Sirius says, trying to sound reassuring, but I can see the growing concern in his eyes.

And then, there's a scream.

Sirius and I share a terrified glance and break out into a run. "Nymphadora!" I shout, "Nymphadora, sweetie, where are you?"

There's another scream, coming from behind a closed door at the end of the hallway on the second floor. We sprint down the hallway and burst into the room to find Nymphadora couched on the floor, her face buried in her hands, sobbing. Standing over her is…a clown. For a moment, I want to scream as well. _What _is a _clown_ doing in Sirius's house? But then it hits me – it must be a Boggart. Sirius moves to stand in front of the little girl's quivering form, and the clown falls to the floor and splits in three. Now the bodies of James, Remus, and Peter are lying on the ground, covered in blood. I turn my head away and gasp, a sharp intake of breath. I hear Sirius shout, "Riddikulus!" and then the three bodies are standing up, doing some sort of tap dance. I rush to Nymphadora now and crouch down beside the little girl. "It's okay," I say softly, "Look, it's just three funny men doing a dance now, look."

Slowly, she uncovers her face and peers up at the Boggart. She giggles slightly, and I lift her up into my arms. "It's okay now," I tell her as I walk from the room, "Sirius and I won't let anything hurt you."

Nymphadora buries her face into my shoulder as I carry her down the stairs into the kitchen, still crying softly. I move my hand in small circles on her back, whispering, "Shhh, don't cry now, it's alright, nothing's going to hurt you."

Finally, she lifts her face from the crook of my neck and asks, "I'm safe?"

"Yes," I say, "You're safe."

"Clown is gone?" she asks apprehensively.

"Yes, sweetie, the clown is gone. Are you hungry? I've made some dinner."

Nymphadora nods, and I place her down at the kitchen table and put a heating charm on her pasta. As she begins eating, I walk back out of the kitchen, surprised that Sirius is still not downstairs. "Kreacher," I say, regretting that I have to resort to this.

The house elf apparates beside me with a _pop _and immediately begins muttering about "infernal Mudbloods staining the House of Black."

Ignoring his scathing remarks, I say, "Kreacher, go into the kitchen and watch Nymphadora. Don't take your eyes off of her. If she leaves the table, come get either Sirius or me _immediately_."

Kreacher shoots me a withering glare, but he cannot disobey a direct order, so he stalks into the kitchen, whispering under his breath as usual. I ascend the stairs once more and return to the room where we found Nymphadora and the Boggart. Uncertainly, I walk inside.

Sirius is sitting up against a wall with his knees drawn to his chest, staring off into the air. A haunted look fills his eyes. "Sirius?" I ask softly. His eyes flicker to me, but he says nothing as I walk over and sit down beside him. "Sirius?" I say again, "You okay?"

Sirius laughs bitterly, a sound I have never heard come out of him – Sirius, the joker, the prankster, the one who, ironically, is very rarely serious.

"I know it wasn't real," he says at last, "But it could be. This is war, Lily, and we're fighting. We're putting our lives on the line _every day_ out there." He shakes his head sadly. "And they're the closest thing to family I have," he goes on, his voice growing softer, "I just…I can't lose them. I _can't_."

"Oh, Sirius," I whisper, snaking my arm around his back and resting my head on his shoulder. I want to say something, to comfort him, to tell him that we're all going to be fine. But he's right, this is a war, and in war there are casualties. And the truth is, I don't know if we're all going to be fine. I just don't know. So instead of speaking, I sit there in silence beside him, offering only the comfort of my presence, the comfort of my touch.

We stay there for a moment until Sirius stands, and I rise beside him. He smirks at me and says, "We only just found the kid, did you _really_ leave her by herself again?" Well, Sirius is back.

"I told Kreacher to watch her," I say defensively.

"Oh, great!" Sirius exclaims, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "You left her with the deranged house elf! That's much better!"

I glare at him, but only half-heartedly, as we leave the room and return downstairs to the kitchen, where Nymphadora is just finishing her bowl of pasta. Kreacher, glad to be relieved of his duty, snarls at us and Disapparates from the room, causing Nymphadora to squeal with delight.

"Did you like that, Nymphadora?" I ask.

She nods her head, her mossy green hair flopping over her eyes, and exclaims, "Yes! Elf went pop!"

"Would you like to see Sirius go pop?" I ask, smiling at the man deviously.

"Yes!" Nymphadora screeches, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands enthusiastically.

Sirius sighs, glares at me, and then Disapparates with a loud crack. Nymphadora nearly falls out of her chair in delight.

Moments later, Sirius reappears and Nymphadora squeals, "Again! Again!"

Sirius flips me the finger behind his back, and I smile back at him sweetly. He repeats the process until Nymphadora's grandmother arrives outside the house half an hour later – Nymphadora would start crying and screaming any time he said he was going to stop.

The two of us stand in the doorway waving until Mrs. Tonks's car disappears from sight, and then we turn back into the house, closing the door behind us. "Thanks for coming over, Lily," Sirius says, looking embarrassed, "I would have gone crazy if it hadn't been for you."

"You're welcome, Siri—"

"Actually," he sneers, giving me a look of mock anger, "I nearly _did _go crazy because of you! I was popping in and out of that goddamn room for a _half hour_! Do you have any idea how much energy that took up? I'm going to be asleep for the next five years!"

"Good," I say, giving him a playful shove, "That's five years I don't have to deal with you."

Sirius walks me to the fireplace and hands me his jar of floo powder. "Seriously, though, thanks," he says as I step into the flames. And then I'm back in our nice, quiet living room once more. No more screaming Walburga Black, no more crying toddlers, no more psychopathic house elves. And no more Boggarts.

"Hey," James says as he saunters into the room, "Ready to go?"

Suddenly, I'm exhausted. "James," I say, "I'm ready to sleep for a day or a year or two. Where do you think we're going?"

"St. Mungo's, of course!" he exclaims, looking at me like I'm mental, "I assume you're in need of their psychiatric services?"

My mouth twitches into a grin. "No, James, I think I'm still pretty sane."

"Then should we go and get Sirius?" he asks, "Or worse, the kid?"

I pick up a pillow off of the couch and chuck it at his head. He dodges it and it hits the wall behind him. Damn Quidditch reflexes. "Believe it or not," I say, "No one _actually _went bonkers. In fact, Sirius and I almost _got along_."

James gasps and puts a hand to his forehead as if feeling faint. "Tell me it isn't so!" he exclaims, "Now I _know_ you've gone crazy. You and Sirius getting along? That'll be the day."

"I said _almost, _didn't I?" I laugh as we walk down the hall to our bedroom, and I climb into bed, too tired to even change out of my clothes. As I drift off into sleep, I decide that James and I won't be having any children for a while – and when we do, Sirius will _not _be allowed to babysit.


End file.
